


Slide

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: RWBY
Genre: Bondage, F/F, Gunplay, Knifeplay, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exchanging weapons with someone was one of the greatest expressions of trust between hunters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slide

Exchanging weapons with someone was one of the greatest expressions of trust between hunters. While some scholars insisted it was akin to exchanging a forged piece of one’s soul, most warriors saw it as a way of walking in each other’s shoes, allowing a temporary weakness in order to garner greater understanding. In schools, partners or even entire teams were the usual culprits, but it happened between lovers and significant others too, which was why Weiss found herself unraveling a black ribbon from her forearm for the third time today, trying to get the lines of it to lay flat and symmetrical.

Gambol Shroud had a heft where Myrtenaster did not, although the weight was divided between gun and sheath, unlike the formidable bulk of Crescent Rose but without the symmetry of Ember Celica. The design was truly unique, fitting Blake’s adaptive and guerrilla fighting style, never offering a blade without a counter or a bullet sans defense. In contrast, she had built her rapier to balance practicality in tandem with elegance, harkening back to duels and single combat while able to displace a dozen opponents at once with the proper application of Dust.

Turning the pistol over in her hand, Weiss was struck by the fusion of elements, a special tactics knife cut to fit along a custom-machined slide, anchored at just the right place to even out the extended clip so it could be tossed with a consistent spiral. The sheath, on the other hand, called to mind some of the greatblades of old, with the hilt abandoned and grip shifted to align with the tang of the weapon itself. In a way, it looked like Gambol Shroud had been put together from random pieces on hand, turning scrap into a tool of warfare.

Only a second passed before Weiss came to terms with the fact that that was probably true, considering how limited resources had to be for a child raised under the aegis of the White Fang.

Surrendering Myrtenaster in turn had been harder than she expected; it had only ever left her custody to hang in the Schnee armory for events that expressly forbade carrying arms. When Blake took the sword with infinite care, exchanging the magnetized backpack for the belt that steadied itself on Weiss’ hip and thigh, they had shared a look of loss tinged by a flicker of fear before she found herself pulled into a firm kiss. The Faunus’ golden eyes bloomed with trust, that precious and fragile commodity Weiss had fought so hard to earn.

“I’m going to spend a little time in the library.” Blake said, stance widening by degrees to compensate for the left-canted weight. On dull weekends like this, most of Beacon was empty, allowing for a particular quiet that was often in short supply, and a recharge away from the bustle of crowds and classes. “Ruby and Yang are out until tomorrow, right?”

“It’s their Uncle Qrow’s birthday. As far as I’m aware, the plan is to surprise him with a papier-mâché Ursa filled with candy,” They had spent a week making the monstrosity, with leftover glue and paper sticking almost everywhere imaginable. “I’m sure I’ll find some way to keep entertained in your absence.”

“Schnee creativity is always a sight to see.” Fingers splayed across her cheek and fell away, a final fleeting moment of intimacy. “I’ll be back in time for us to have dinner together, okay?”

A nod of assent and Blake was gone, heat lingering in the empty space after the door closed, an echo of an echo. Weiss reached reflexively for the slender hilt at her hip, instead nearly cutting her thumb on the broad edge of Gambol Shroud’s sheath, leaning its bulk against one thigh. Chiding herself under her breath, a surreptitious glance around the room gave little inspiration for how to spend so much free time; without the others, games or sparring were out of the question, and she had finished her homework the night before, the color-coded notes already arranged by class and date.

It seemed pathetic to be so bored the moment she was left to her own devices. Taking out her scroll in one hand and the weapon in the other, Weiss moved to sit on the edge of her bed, waiting for the screen to light up before opening a feed of daily kingdom news. After a moment, she felt her eyes start to glaze over; every column was drier than the next, and even the stock market was sluggish, nothing more than fractions of percents drifting up and down. There was also the fact that the pistol half of Gambol Shroud was biting into the small of her back and the sheath was taking up a third of the mattress by itself. How did Blake sit comfortably like this?

Setting her scroll down with a disappointed huff, Weiss drew the gun in question, ears pricking at the satisfying click of metal when it snapped from the pack. Seconds ticked by as she held it steady, a twinge flaring through her wrist at the weight, and she brought her other hand up to bear it, fingers wrapping around the narrow grip. From this angle, the flare of the blade imitated a pair of iron sights, a marvel of hybridity Weiss was surprise she hadn’t noticed before. Blake was usually a dark blur in combat, chasing bullets and jumping between shadows, emerging unscathed after a flurry of motion that resembled an art form more than technique.

Wherever she touched, the metal grew warm, as if molding itself to her palms. No matter how tightly she gripped Myrtenaster, it never strayed past room temperature, the gauge she built to control heat and chill preventing any dangerous interactions whenever the ammunition was swapped out. Weiss’ thumb traced the frame of the pistol until she found a small switch, and giving it a hard press dropped the magazine right into her lap. She startled at the sound, cursing at being surprised by something so simple. The clip had bounced idly off her ankle, harmless for all the Dust it contained, inert without air or a firing pin to cause an explosion.

Without the magazine to balance out the gun, it jerked forward, the attached ribbon seizing around her wrist. For a second it was as tight as Blake’s grasp when they were alone, the calloused hands that pinned her to the bed, but where those fingers were rough, the taut black fabric had the texture of silk and yet refused to yield. She had been willingly tangled in it before, arms bound behind her back or to the bed itself, the woven harness a precise web of knots and loops from which it was impossible to escape.

Weiss shivered, slowly unhooking the ribbon from where it lay over her arm. Warmth and curiosity left her flushed as she popped open the chamber, empty of Dust but possessing slick traces of gun oil; even unloaded, it was still deadly, the shorter blade polished and sharp enough to break skin with a whisper of pressure. When she put the flat of the knife against her cheek, it was cold, the tip angled right towards her scar. Blake’s mouth kissed the jagged tissue so often with reverence, soothing away her ugly reflex to the contact. They were both damaged, but it was easier to bear in those moments.

She drew the blade downward, a deliberate path until it swept across her throat, right against the vital pulse there. In dark daydreams, Blake threatened her like this, bid her to spread her legs and give until she gasped their safeword like a desperate prayer. She was always safe; it was never real, but just the thought carried a fervor of heat and release.

Yanking the weapon away from her neck, Weiss’ frustration suddenly peaked. “Why the library  _today_?”

Deep down she understood, made the solitude the Faunus needed sacrosanct, but desire surged through her blood, spread across her skin like a hungry flame. A quick glance at her scroll showed no new messages, no warning that Ruby and Yang were returning early or that Blake had tired quickly of poring over old tomes and wanted some company. Rising to her feet, Weiss ignored the slight tremble in both knees to go to the door and ensure that it was locked. After checking it twice, she let out a shaky breath, reaching for the zipper at her back while approaching the bed again.

The dress slipped down her arms with a quiet hiss of lace, taking Blake’s pack with it after falling to her hips and lower after a firm tug. Stepping out of the circle of red and white, Weiss took off her platform boots next, the familiar tinge of annoyance as she lost four inches of height setting in. Removing her bra was a relief at least, casting it aside to join the other garments on the floor. Left in bone-white panties and matching stockings, Weiss climbed back into bed, knee nudging Gambol Shroud’s sheath as she rearranged the pillows to suit her purpose.

It was hard to disassociate Blake’s weapon with sex when every piece of it was made by the same hands that touched her, when it was bound together by the exact ribbon that kept her body in place as she writhed and begged, surrendering all dignity and pride in return for pleasure that shook her to the core. If she sobbed and clutched tight afterwards, no judgment was given, only an embrace that steadied her once more, sweet nothings whispered that rumbled at the end with a purr.

Weiss twisted the ribbon around her fingers as she mulled the matter over, wondering what she could trust herself to emulate. Wrapping it around her throat was unfortunately out of the question; Blake had made it clear the practice was dangerous, even deadly, when done alone, and just the embarrassment factor of being found passed out and half-naked was enough to dissuade her. However, that didn’t mean she had to forego restraint entirely.

With eyes closed, she imagined Blake’s hands instead of her own, mimicking the movements to wrap black lines around her torso, criss-crossed under both breasts. Weiss took a deep breath before pulling the weave of the ribbon taut, tucking one end under the loops that now framed her back. The other hooked to the frame of the pistol once more, ensuring that any sharp tug of the weapon would tighten her bonds. It wasn’t quite the same, having her arms free, but it would negate the point of touching herself if she was trapped completely.

Embarrassment threatened to set in as Weiss looked down, seeing the ribbon like veins of obsidian through marble. This was usually the moment when Blake inspected her, took advantage of the position to part her thighs wide regardless of attempts to close them or thrash. Inevitably, she was wet, soaking through her panties until they were stripped away and tossed out of her reach. Thus prompted by memory, she did the same now, hooking her thumbs in the thin lace and raising her hips. After a moment’s consideration, Weiss left the stockings as they were, enjoying the sensation when she drew her palms back up the inside of her thighs in one smooth motion.

Another tremble went through her limbs as she picked up the gun again, angled as if there was a target right between her knees. A second check confirmed it was unloaded, but habit kept her from slipping past the trigger guard, resisting the urge to squeeze it and fire. The knife curved up towards her stomach, tip scraping just below the line of her ribs; from this way the sharp edge faced the ceiling, but the simple pressure of metal was enough to make Weiss swallow a whimper.

Bracing the well of the pistol against the bed, she brought her left hand back up to pale curls, fingers delving between them to find where the ache was the strongest. Slick heat met her touch, already so wet from mere fantasy that Weiss couldn’t repress a blush. Gathering the arousal from her entrance, she spread it across sensitive folds, feeling herself open up with barely any contact at all. If Blake was here, she would be teased for being so eager, toyed with until the constant stream of moans and gasps meant something would be shoved in her mouth to mute the noise, whether it was her own panties or the Faunus’ tongue during a searing kiss.

Alone, she could rebel, go straight to her clit and enjoy the immediate jolt of pleasure, work herself from wet to nearly dripping. Weiss knew she’d have to be to take the hard friction she craved, squirming whenever her back arched and forced the length of the blade against her abdomen. It felt so good, the ribbon wrapped around her like an embrace as her fingers thrust inside, easing past that initial stretch until she relaxed enough to take three, hissing sharply through clenched teeth whenever the curve of her palm bumped her clit. Trying to ground herself from the sensation was hard, her body trying to settle for what was already given and come, but that wasn’t what she wanted. Weiss had barely started.

Her pulse stuttered when she tilted the gun down, driving the barrel into the sheets. Blake’s name escaped her lips, ragged and broken, as the first inch of the pistol grip pushed in, solid where her fingers had been soft, the ribbed texture engraved into the metal a strange but ecstatic shock. Weiss had to remember to breathe as the rest slid past her entrance, walls clenching tight when it bottomed out at the trigger guard. For a moment she was still, biting down on her lip to try and quiet the whine that was desperately building in her throat. The thought of Blake using her like this, tied down and taking the weapon deep, was nearly too much.

A moment with her eyes closed didn’t kill the intensity, but it was enough for Weiss to regain control of both hands, starting to move the pistol in careful thrusts while two fingers drew circles around her clit. Whenever she came close to withdrawing it completely, there was a pull of protest from the ribbon the gun was bound to, the makeshift harness squeezing around her breasts and back, as much lure as punishment. It was impossible to keep a completely smooth rhythm when the weapon simply wasn’t built for this, but she compensated with the measured rock of her hips, wanting more and faster.

Fantasy fell to pieces as she moaned, unable to focus on anything else except the deliberate drive of metal filling her again and again. It was unforgiving, hard and thick, but Weiss hadn’t come to this point because she wanted mercy. Coils of tension built at the base of her spine, low in her abdomen, daring her to continue until she was overwhelmed. If the gun was loaded, it would have been even heavier, a constant threat she spread her legs for, enduring for the sake of being put in her place.

Blake was never so cruel as to say such a thing aloud, but they both knew the truth, that being able to lay aside who she was, to be submissive by choice, was a revelation. She gave service in a hundred ways and it was answered with guidance and  _love_ , endless adoration no matter how low she fell, debased herself at the Faunus’ feet. They made the pieces fit regardless of circumstance, broke down barriers and kissed each other’s scars while making a stubborn, headlong run to a better future.

Weiss knew she wasn’t being watched now, but she didn’t have to be when what she held was Blake’s and Blake’s alone. Faster strokes over her clit made her jerk and twist, cupping the barrel of the pistol to push it inside her at a sharper angle. Her palms were starting to sweat, the rising fire in her body wanting — no,  _demanding_  — release. Despite the incessant motion, it wasn’t quite enough, straining for that final push that would turn breathless whines and whimpers into a scream. Held at that tense, needy edge, Weiss slipped one finger over the trigger of the pistol and squeezed.

The first, instantaneous reaction held a touch of pain from the rough jerk of the frame, but a staccato burst of pleasure echoed it, making her come with a hoarse cry. Hips moving by instinct, she rode the grip of the pistol through every wave of ecstasy, clit pressing against the smooth curve of the slide as the world around her was blotted out by the sheer intensity, knowing nothing but slick heat, unyielding metal, and her blood burning white-hot. The thrash and struggle made the ribbon around Weiss grip like a vise, tighter and tighter until she was over the peak, gasping when her body went limp in complete surrender.

Panting for air, gulping it down like there would never be enough, each beat of her heart was matched with a tremble, another relentless throb of bliss. She glowed with it, blood staining pale flesh pink from within, exertion casting her in red. Weiss felt time pass at a sluggish distance, floating through a daze until the room put itself back together again, dull colors becoming familiar shapes, the walls and posts of the bed. Her strength returned by degrees, cogent enough to let out a groan of loss as she slowly pulled out the gun, untangling herself from the ribbon with a complete absence of grace.

A laugh of disbelief left her as she looked at the state she was in, Gambol Shroud laying flush against her like a lover. Turning onto her side, Weiss relaxed into the cool air of the room as it passed over her body, lulling the afterglow into a half-conscious state. Through lowered lids, she watched the shadows as they passed under the curtain of the far window, minutes drifting by with nothing notable but the constant interplay of light. Wrapped in the content grasp of solitude, she indulged in every second of leisure, debauched as the source may have been.

When the soft click of the door opening filled the room, Weiss froze in place, eyes flickering down to the mussed sheets to see if there was time to cover herself. The decision was made for her when Blake stepped past the threshold and drew in a sudden breath. She could only imagine what scent carried in the air now, sweat and sex mixed with the heady tang of gunpowder. After a second’s pause, the Faunus reached back to lock the door, Myrtenaster still draped from one side like a delicate decoration.

No words were exchanged as the distance closed between them, Blake’s footsteps a whisper over the floor. Weiss fought the urge to feign modesty; no matter how firmly she kept her knees together, there was no question as to what she had been doing. When Blake sat down at the end of the bed, anger and surprise were absent, but that bright stare raked over her skin with all the force of claws, hunger provoked at seeing her naked and undone. Regardless of her even breath, Weiss’ nerves were still raw, frazzled from the power of that orgasm.

“I think we’ll have to have a conversation about respecting the property of others,” Blake said, picking up the pistol by its blunt barrel, “starting with this.”

Weiss opened her mouth to summon an excuse or protest, but as soon as she did, the grip of the gun was put to her lips, a subtle pressure against her teeth. Sensing the game immediately, she allowed her jaw to go slack, letting out a quiet moan as her own arousal and warm metal mixed into a sharp taste on the back of her tongue. Breathing through her nose let Weiss focus on licking and sucking it clean, unable to keep from blushing as golden eyes centered on her throat, the way it bobbed every time she had to swallow with the rounded edge forced against her palate.

“You’re such a quick study, Weiss.” Blake’s approval rumbled with a purr, the sound low and dark. “Are you sorry?”

Defiance flared in her gaze, staring resolutely forward until the silence was translated.

A laugh came in turn, the Faunus’ head tilting curiously. “Do you want to be?”

With that, the gun was unceremoniously yanked from Weiss’ mouth, provoking a cough as a sharp inhale drew air down her dry throat. “Yes.”

“I thought so.” Blake cupped her jaw, thumb massaging a sore point there before the grip tightened enough to bruise. “Then let’s get started.”


End file.
